


Making Memories

by afractionof



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:00:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afractionof/pseuds/afractionof





	Making Memories

It’s quiet and you’re okay with that. Honestly, you’ve gotten pretty used to it… but it still hurts sometimes and, really, you know that it probably shouldn’t but, hey, what can you say, you’re not always logical.

But, in this, you think it’s kind of justified, you’re discontent. You can’t go out like the rest of them. You gave that up a while ago, not that you really thought you’d live to see the world you came from again anyway— you were an offshoot, not the ‘real’ Dave. You should have been doomed and you still wonder how you’d ended up here. You were part of the game, right? A Sprite? You didn’t belong on earth anymore.

But, you guess it must have recognized some part of you— the Dave part— and thought it should spare you. Maybe it wasn’t as nonchalant about killing things off as you’d first thought.

Some days you really wished it hadn’t chosen that moment to be thoughtful.

Just the idea that it even could, would make you laugh on any other day but today is a little different. You’d call it special if you weren’t alone, if the apartment weren’t dark and you weren’t sitting in your usual place, near the window with the blinds barely cracked.

Because today is your birthday. Well, Dave’s birthday, at least. You’re not sure if that really counts for you anymore but you can pretend.

John had come down from Washington for a week and the two of them were out for the night. You weren’t really sure where Bro was but you figured he was at some kind of club, probably working, maybe drinking.

It didn’t really matter.

But, in a way, it did, because of all the people you’d ever wished to see again, Bro was the main one. He was also the last person you would have thought to forget something like this but you guess you can’t really blame him. Things have been pretty different since everything ended, after all. He’d probably met up with John and Real-Dave which you guess is a good thing. Dave would want him there. And maybe that’s why you were alone.

Again.

For now though, you’ll just sit, watching the lights outside and you’re not really sure how much time passes before you decide that’s enough of that and float out of the room. You don’t tend to venture out too much when people are around. They’ve gotten used to you, sure, but, at the same time, you’ve gotten used to being by yourself. It’s less exhausting, less complicated, and sometimes it’s just nicer that way. You don’t have think about anything you don’t want to and there’s no accidental reminders.

But, you know there’s a thing of ice cream in the freezer and it’s calling you. You might not have anyone to celebrate with but that doesn’t mean you can’t at least have something you like, especially if it’s just sitting there, waiting for you.

Ice cream is probably one of your favorite foods, even if it is kind of a pain to eat. You’re a hell of a lot warmer than you used to be and it melts pretty quickly if you hold the bowl for more than a minute and, really, you’re not fond of just drinking it. If you wanted a shake, you’d just make one of those but this is ice cream— solid, cold, in a bowl— and you’re pretty sure it completely defeats the whole purpose to have it liquefied.

When you get to the fridge you pause though, because taped to the front is a piece of paper with orange marker and familiar hand writing scribbled across it.

**Bro. Roof. Now. Bring a fork.**

_A fork?_

Reaching forward, you pull the paper, ignoring the little tears your fingers leave at the bottom and the snap of the tape as it lets go of the rough surface.

It’s definitely orange so there’s no real question whether it’s for you or not and you almost laugh because Bro has color coded you— creamsicle and candy apple red.

You’re not sure if that’s a good thing but, hey, like you said, you like ice cream and that’s just how he is.

Your eyes dart over to the door and then the clock.

It’s late enough no one should really been walking around so you could probably make it to the roof without a problem but it still makes you hesitate because there’s that off chance you might be seen and how the hell are you going to explain that.

It takes you a minute but you go. You’re not sure why even bothered to think about it. That hesitation was probably just a front anyway, a waste, because you knew you’d end up listening. You’d probably go anywhere that Bro asked you to and the roof was familiar. It was normal and just that was kind of comforting to know that, in a way, he was still including you in normal shit like that.

But, when you get to the roof, you don’t see much at first. It’s dark and you twirl the fork you’d had stop and to go back to get between your fingers.

"Bro?"

"Up here."

The voice behind you startles you and you have to clamp your teeth together to bite back one of those little ‘peep’ sounds John finds so amusing. Asshole. You’re not a bird, whether you’ve been prototyped with a feathery one or not. You don’t squawk or chirp or any of that other shit he seems to think you might do.

Usually, anyway but you don’t talk about exceptions.

No fucks are given for exceptions.

There’s that familiar laugh, a little rough around the edges but warms and welcoming and you turn, rolling your eyes.

Bro’s set up on top of the door, laughing at you and you’re not dumb enough to think he didn’t pick that spot for no reason. He’d probably planned to scare you. His legs are hanging down a little to the side and in his hands in a small white box. Next to him is another package, covered in what looks like a paper bag and your lips twitch. You’re not 100% sure but you’d bet a feather or two that’s for you and, for a second, you can’t do much more than stare.

You’d thought he’d forgotten.

God, you were such a little shit, even now, years after you thought you’d grown out of that, so ready to just jump to the first conclusion that came rolling through your mind.

He pats the space to his left, motioning for you to come and sit, and you float forward, settling beside him. At your back, you tuck your wings close and try not to openly laugh when he turns and gets a face full of orange feathers.

It takes him a minute and your lips thin in thought, smile fading, when he doesn’t immediately scoot away.

That’s something you’ve always appreciated about him. He doesn’t make a big deal out of shit. He just rolls with whatever he’s given and doesn’t waste his time bitching about things he can’t change.

You wish you could be more like that.

"Here." Holding up the white box, he pulls open the top and raises his own fork. “Apple Spice is still your favorite, right?"

And this time, you can’t help a laugh. You just nod when he tips it toward you so you can get a good look at the cake. It’s white, probably cream cheese frosting, you’re not sure, but in the center is a simple, red smiley face.

He made it. You don’t know where he got the box or found the time but the frosting is sloppy and the red is a little smeared and you’ve honestly never seen anything that looked better and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

"…You?" He just shrugs, nodding and you sit up a little, reaching over with your fork to get a bite. “Thanks…"

He doesn’t say anything but you guess he doesn’t really need to. He’s Bro. He gets it. Words just kind of clutter shit up half the time anyway.

The cake is sweet and still kind of warm so he must have made it after other-Dave and John left. You kind of wonder why he didn’t just share it with them but you’re not going to complain. The last thing you’re going to do is question why you’re getting to spend time with him, just the two of you.

You missed this.

Some of your best memories are of days like this, just sitting around with Bro doing things that might not have been conventional but it’s not like you’d known any better. They were fun and it was Bro. You’d never questioned that.

Looking up, you decide you’ve never been so glad that it’s warm in Texas even in the winter. It’s not hot but you guess this is kind of what spring feels like for Egbert. You don’t really get cold like you used to and sometimes you forget but Bro doesn’t look cold, at least.

Not that you think you’ve ever seen him look cold…

But, that’s pretty beside the point because after a few bites, he sets the box down between you and reaches for the small package at his side.

You were right.

Both forks are left beside the cake and he gestures for you to open it when it’s put in your lap. You don’t ask what it is. You see a lot of people do that and even as a kid you never understood why. Wasn’t that the point of wrapping it? That you had to open it and find out and some shit about surprises being awesome or something?

So, you just pull the paper off and try not to be too bothered by the way you can’t do it neatly with your clawed nails tearing through it without even trying. It’s in shreds by the time you’re done but Bro doesn’t say anything and you cut the little scrap of tape holding the box closed before opening it.

And sitting in the center is absolutely nothing.

The box is empty.

When he doesn’t laugh you have to look over. "…okay?"

You’re not really sure what you’re supposed to say here. He’s done some weird shit in the past but usually you knew what he was up to, at least in basic terms but this… you’ve got no idea what his game is.

"Yeah." You watch as he reaches up, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and he shrugs again. “Didn’t know what to get you. Thought of some stuff, didn’t fit. Figured I’d give you the box and let you pick what you wanted to put in it. Doesn’t have to be now, just let me know when you’ve found something you like and I’ll get it."

That… is probably one of the weirdest, oddly sweet things you’ve ever heard. And you didn’t expect it all.

You’d done that thing again, where you jump to conclusions but this time you laugh because you’re not really sure what else to do.

You hadn’t really gotten to know that side of him before— that whole nice guy deal. He was your bro. The dude that kicked your ass six ways from Sunday and still took care of you better than anyone else could. He threw those fucked up puppets at you and took every chance he got to scare the crap out of you. He was gone a lot, busy other times and passed out the rest.

Or, at least, that’s what it’d seemed like.

It’d taken a long time for you to realize that being like him wasn’t the way to go and even longer to realize what you’d missed out on.

"Thanks…" And you mean it. You’re not sure you’ve ever liked a gift more than this one and you already know what you want to put in the box. It just might take some time. “You don’t have to buy me anything."

"I can’t just give you a box."

"Yeah, well, maybe I already know what I want to put in it?" It’s your turn to shrug and you close the box up, setting it aside. “Maybe I don’t need you to buy me shit to have something good for it." 

"And what’s that?"

You just shake your head. You can’t say it out loud. It’s cheesy and sounds like a bad pick-up line and there are actually some levels you just can’t stoop to with Bro around.

This is one. Because it would probably be half of what it sounded like and god only knows what he might think of that.

"C’mon, let’s hear it?"

"Forget it. It’s dumb. I like the box, it’s cool, don’t need anything else, thank you. The cake is delicious, by the way."

"That’s not gonna cut it."

"Yeah, well." You just shrug again and look up.

You can’t see the stars. Houston is way too bright for that but you don’t mind. The reflected colors on the low hanging smog is ugly to some people but after years of travelling through space and time you like the change.

"Dave."

"Got the wrong guy for that to work."

"Don’t give me that shit."

His tone is a lot sharper than you expected and your eyes dart over. You’re thankful for the shades, more so than usual when you find him frowning and you just arch an eyebrow, silently questioning what the fuck his problem is there.

He sighs, leaning back and you immediately regret that decision.

"Hey, I didn’t—"

"You’re Dave. You’re Dave and he’s Dave and I don’t want to hear that one of you is real and the other isn’t. That’s a pile of shit and you know it."

"Bro, I—"

"Will you shut up for a second?" Your mouth snaps closed and he sighs, shaking his head. “Don’t know about anyone else and honestly don’t even care. You’re real and ‘m glad you’re here."

For someone that talks so much, you always seem to lack words where he’s concerned. You’ve got a hundred things you want to say, maybe more and ever since you got back, saw him again, it’s all been stuck in your chest and now is no different.

All your words are caught and even if they came out, you’re pretty sure they’d be a jumbled mess, making little to no sense and it’s just better to keep your mouth shut.

But it’s hard. Because he’s right here and it’s just the two of you and you’ve been waiting a long time to hear that— that you’re real, that he thinks you’re worth it. And you should have already known that. You shouldn’t have needed confirmation from him. You’d told yourself over and over that, out of everyone, Bro wouldn’t change. He’d still love you.

But it’d been hard to believe.

"…fine." You probably should have just said it to begin with and owned up to being a sappy little shit. What was the point in hiding it anyway? You’d feel stupid? You’re glowing orange and have a tail, you’re pretty sure you can’t really get much worse than that. “It’s a memory."

"What?"

Looking over, you gesture to the box. “In the box? Want to put a memory there."

"You serious?"

"Do I fucking look like I’m kidding?" You guess not because he doesn’t say anything and you sigh. “It’s stupid, it’s cool. You can laugh but that’s what I want."

"I’m not gonna laugh, Christ, kid, cut me some slack. What memory?"

"One that doesn’t include you calling me ‘kid’."

You can pretty much feel him roll his eyes but you don’t care. You’re not a kid and there’s a handful of things you want from him that’d just sound weird as shit if he kept calling you that. “What memory then."

"Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Oh my fuck, will you just do it? It’s not that hard to just sit there and close your eyes and not question every god damn thing, is it? No, no it’s not and—"

"Fine. Fine. They’re closed."

You’re not sure you believe him but it doesn’t really matter anyway because you’re going to do it regardless. You’ve waited a long time for the ‘right’ moment to have this talk and fuck if there actually is a ‘right’ moment to tell your Bro you’re mildly in love with him. Minus the mild part. You’re just— he’s—fuck.

Everything.

He’s absolutely fucking everything to you.

And this is as good as you’re going to get. Just you and him and the roof and no one else. 

That’s stupid but so is leaning forward and so is kissing him and you’re not really of a mind to care. It’s your box, your memory and even if it’s only for two seconds, it’s worth it.

But it’s not just for two seconds and you don’t have to rush because he’s not pushing you away. You can actually feel him smile and when you go to sit back, to ask what the fuck, his hand settles at the back of your neck, keeping you in place and you can’t even protest because his lips are warm and inviting and—

Jesus fuck, you are stupid.

You are stupid and you jump to conclusions. You assume shit and you’re definitely good at making an ass of yourself.

He gave you a box for your birthday.

_A box._

For the birthday he didn’t forget, the one he made you a cake for and now he’s making a memory with you. One that will go in that box and every time you look at it you’ll remember all of this, right down to the way his lips are a little chapped and he tastes like apples, right down to how his hand feels cool against your skin and his fingers sift through the feathers at the base of your neck.

You’ve never felt more real than you do right now and, maybe he knows that, maybe he doesn’t, but you hope he knows he gave you something a lot better than some store bought present.

And, actually, knowing him, that was probably his game all along and, as usual, you played right along with him.

But, you figure that’s a point for both of you, this time, at least.


End file.
